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Inflections and consonants litter the bedroom, except now there are three instead of just two that have been invited into bed. There’s no need to be so crass; but a broken heart isn’t a polite organ and he’s not known as the nicest man. He’s always entertained becoming a martyr; now on the eve of becoming one thrice over it’s easier to play stubborn and pretend everything’s fine when every word that escapes from her lips cracks his ribs in half.
“Fitz,” she exhales, like his very own surname is a both damnation and salvation. She continues, but there’s no way he was listening over the oxygen escaping from his lungs. Every limb loses its agency like it’s been stabbed with a paralytic, unlike his brogues, which are heavy and in control. Instead of words there are footsteps as a solution. Saltwater hasn’t been kind, first it ruined his mind and now the sea is breaking inside of him. He’s never been more relieved that she’s not walking aside him.
“Oh, god” , she stays and she prays silently to the entity she never believed in as her elbows rest on her knees. The door to her room is still open- but the exit was very much like closure personified. Her trainers root firmly against the cement to prepare for the momentum of moving forward to follow him into the lab.
(A graceful dénouement enters the room, with his declarations of his intentions to save the abandoned astronaut.)
(This is nothing what they wanted, and nothing that they needed, but this is everything and all they got.)
They watch the sunrise and they make plans for a future in a cottage that holds all of their maybes and please and wants and dreams.
They give every opportunity and reason to escape each other’s orbit; but they leave every single one.
They take years and months and days and minutes and compress them into a sunrise.
The Scot curses the cosmos and the cosmos just chuckle at their dramatic engineer. Does their engineer not comprehend that, while yes, they’ve separated these two souls, but it was him who repented and bargained and resolved and plotted and planned against the whole macrocosm? He’s shouted to the universe that they cannot claim her and they relented. Does he not realize that when he keeps turning his chip in for hers, the Cosmos might want to collect on his offers?
So they wait and wait but they still take and take and take and carry their engineer to the precipice: where it’s him acquiescing to the stars instead of them claiming their reparation.
His lips taste like a goodbye and an apology.
You kiss him like it’s the first one in the series of forever.
He kisses you like it’s the last time.
(there’s so much more but, that’s that, you suppose)
It was naïve to believe that only you recognized the intergalactic portal.
It was foolish to believe that this story was only between you.
It was right stupid to think your love only spanned a decade, instead of millenniums.
When HYRDA abducts the engineer and the biochemist because a therapist violated patient confidentiality, the biochemist rebels and screams and never breaks while the engineer relinquishes and leverages to save the astronaut.
(she never thought she’s be so heartbroken and in love and so incredibly furious.)
(it’s backwards and incomplete)
(but also beautiful)
“This will break us,” she whispers violently to the void inside the room.
“No, this will end us,” he begins and ends a few thousands times and finally coldly states, “and everything we almost were.”
“You don’t get to do this,” she barters with the universe.
The only answer the universe provides across the containment center is the sound of fastening and buckling.
Desperately wanting to explain she restarts, “you need to understand-”, the pause between the jilted words fall loose and land despondently on, “don’t do this.”
“That’s alright,” he sighs and acquiesced to his selfish point just to let it be. He falters with his martyrdom and decides to relinquish, “but I loved you so I let you go.”
Dizzy and contagious with the sentiment that the chance of maybe there is fully becoming archived, his blue eyes saturate with resolve before diving into the liquid rock.
“Don’t you get it, Jemma? He’s on the other side,” a Scottish lilt echoes into the room while the biochemist just unravels.
There are eons, the rising and falling of empires and rulers, inside of the hours when the engineer is on the other side.
You can still feel his jaw under your fingertips, the way you etched the way he feels underneath your touch. The ghost of his lips asking for resignation and forgiveness for everything he couldn’t and can’t be haunts and breaks you; why does it seem like he’s never asking for forever?
It’s strange, in contrast to everything else- you’ve walked on the dust that’s a few millennium old and felt the universe envelop and spit you out, but you’ve never gotten quite this close to understanding the brightness of atoms or the enlightenment of hope.
“We’re cursed”, he whispered when you finally had your first moment of complete abdication.
It’s bloody disrespectful, the thought enters while your shoulders are held back, giving up when I was giving in.
Only a few memories are accessible when diving throughout the universe to bring back the guy who deserved Jemma’s affections.
Few of them fictional; how jealous you were when Colonel O’Neil first explored the galaxy, of Rory and his hesitant quest for adventure that was always eclipsed for a life with Amy, of Calvino’s thirst for mythology of love in the smallest of molecules.
Those aren’t the memories that triumph.
It’s not even the memory of the moment in the lab, when your atoms murmured and released inhibition into your bloodstream. Does she know you memorized every single second? Does she know you can’t forget the lullaby of her fingertips running across your jaw? Does she know, that you still couldn’t find the words so your lips began every one of your mum’s prayers? That you tried to say to say how you loved her, you ran every syllable over and over and you settled with the promise of a curse?
Really, the memory that holds the trophy is simple: her love for the astronaut whom did everything right; who gave her hope when you weren’t enough.
It’s awkward that you know his face and voice before even meeting the guy. You know of all of his inventions- and the weird names- and what a genius this Scot is. You know how much he loves Jemma because you know what it’s like to love her; how can you not want to give her everything? So yeah, you know about Fitz.
It’s still awkward when you see him.
A logical side of you knows he wouldn’t be wearing his cardigan; except it’s so off putting seeing this scientist in anything else. An even more pragmatic side of you is insanely paranoid.
You weren’t expecting him to be the extraction team.
“Will Daniels, right? Will-”, his borough finally cuts through your thoughts, “-can’t explain much at the moment, but trust me. I know Jemma- she sent me- I’m taking you home and-”
“I know who you are,” and you finally cut him off; did Jemma miscalculate? Why would this guy think you wouldn’t know who he is?
“Oh, well then, um, that’s good. We don’t have a lot of time and we should really get going” he pauses with his hand on his hip and gestures while he does the calculations, “it’s about four hours to the next location opening and I don’t have many mapped out after that.”
It’s awkward walking miles next to a guy that loves the same person you do.
It’s even more uncomfortable walking a murdering planet next to a guy that’s risking his life to rescue you, the person whom had a relationship with the woman he loves. This isn’t lost on you- but you’re still grateful and you’re even more thankful that there’s not a lot of talking other then focusing on the plan.
It’s not until you’re about an hour out from the extraction point when two things happen simultaneously: there’s a small gust and Fitz starts talking.
“I don’t hate you, you know,” the engineer starts with a sigh that’s also a crescendo, which ends with a soft punch, “you’re great, and you gave her hope and helped her survive, so thanks.”
Seeing an asshole kick a puppy might be the less painful then seeing Jemma’s other half thanking him for things he doesn’t deserve and you can’t even stop the words tumbling out,
“Jemma gave me hope, I didn’t-“, trying to explain, but Fitz won’t stop telling you things and the gusts are kicking up-
“I’m sorry NASA got all tainted by Hydra. You got top marks- sorry for lookin’- and bloody brilliant at astrophysics- the article about the difference in variations of terrain was fascinating, you didn’t even have the technology that we have now!” the engineer can’t help sucker punching you, “Hydra is a right bastard and it took fourteen years of from you and I’m sorry you’ve been effected by our war,”
“Stop” you choke out with ninety percent more anger then you meant.
A few things happen at once:
You want him to stop being so freaking benevolent;
and you want him to tell him every version of the truth;
and you just really want to tell him that It is coming but he just won’t shut up.
He looks over at you like he’s personifying Scotland; he might be saint but even they have their sins.
“No, we gotta- listen, I’ll talk later- it’s here or will be- we need to move,”and you cringe at your attempt to be polite; it’s been a while since your livelihood depended on someone else.
Jemma’s other half nods his head, and it’s a freaking miracle that he’s willing to listen. You believe, for the first time in thirteen years, you might be released from this damn hell. It’s about ten minutes away from the extraction time and you’ve already chosen which beer and how many you’ll have before you notice that there’s now sand in the small gusts around you.
The winds whirl and dance around Fitz- and you tried- you tried end this before and for yourself and for Jemma but you can’t save him and you want to you want to you want to and there’s shouting and you don’t even realize it’s you, it’s you that’s making all these sounds.
Three hundred and twenty-seven seconds later, the gales pick up, then quell and completely disappear, leaving Jemma’s engineer sinking in the sand.
““What did you do, Fitz?”
“ Just what you would’ve done and what I promised. Let’s go.”
(Your heart hasn’t been broken in a very, very long time; you weren’t even sure if it was possible.)
(Until the professor and her engineer.)
Every love that’s ever written is a tragedy; it’s so sad the cosmos wrote and revised yours in stone.
When Maveth asks the engineer what’s the price for his life, he answers, there’s none.
When Maveth asks the engineer the price for her life, he answers, that’s everything- take me, I’m yours.
All the parables that say there’s no compromising with Death are wrong; he’s the greatest negotiator of them all.
Recklessness is a polite synonym of stupid with a slight reference to brave. She basically says that right out of the gate, when he hauls the astronaut through the well and out of the portal, fulfilling his quest.
“You’re bloody reckless, Fitz! Stupid and brave, but bloody reckless-”, Jemma’s voice warbles throughout the center,
“Yeah, well, you’re not much better-”
“I’m not the one who jumped into a portal on the request of Hydra before the team arrived-”
“-and what else I going to do, Jemma? You said it yourself, every moment is hell on there and Will-”
“Oh, sod off! This isn’t about Will,” the room turns stagnant and humid with drawn breaths.
She swallows and looks at her astronaut,“That wasn’t right- Will, I’m so very glad you’re on back on Earth,” and straightens her shoulders to face her astronaut, “and I’ll be there for this transition, but I, well, just need a brief moment alone with Fitz.”
The rescued astronaut doesn’t really understand or care what’s going on as he collides with the ground from his earth. He might’ve been a willing participant when he fourteen years younger when he actually gave a damn about mankind, but that changed a week after on that hell planet and now he’s done with magic and stupid freaking space and ambition.
“Jemma, he can’t- we can’t- I’m sorry, but Fitz needs to get to Med, now,” Bobbi shouts, and it’s like a movie set- everybody moving so fast but it’s so slow and there’s a Gaussian blur washing over.
“What? He’s fine- we were just," and the words stop- it’s the love of your life on the brick floor.
There are eternities, the falling of empires, between the weeks of when the engineer is trapped with Death.
There are centuries of the biochemist in the dandling in the cargo ramp; of her hugging a grenade, of her body sleeping on the ocean floor.
There are decades of cursed love, of whispered promises, of watching her choose strength over and over and over again, instead of you.
Not living, your mum would say, was just like before you were born; so nothing to fear, as it couldn’t be that bad, right?
Not dying, though? Well- your mum never said anything, but here’s the answer: it’s the absence of hope.
The Playground moves in shifts around the med center in the lab.
The Brit and the Blonde walk in at dawn and dusk, bickering with breakfast and begging during dinner. The Brit doesn’t understand why you’d sacrifice yourself for the competition- he’s a hogface, mate-, but the Blonde doesn’t care why you would and she just wants you to stop and wake up, she wasn’t going to cover for you anymore.
The Director brings in specs and blueprints for the all the projects you left waiting, and he’s furious, but most of all, he just whispers, C’mon, Turbo when he shuts the door.
The Superhero begins every single day with a tremor when she walks past your door. It’s been a week since she saw you last, and it hurts her, just like last time, to watch you and not help you.
The Gentle Calvary mediates and breathes next to you, mostly every morning at five.
The Oldest Probationary Agent leaves a nest apologies ,and promises of a monkey or dog or whatever you always wanted.
The Astronaut stands midnight vigil; and begs for Death to have taken him instead.
The Biochemist brings tea that turns cold, with the promise of Perthshire if he could only wake up.
Once upon a time, Jemma thought she already had the longest days of her life. Even after six months on a planet that was one continuous night, she still ranks those nine days as the longest.
She’s wrong; six weeks have been a lifetime.
Coulson is kind, but relentless, in the request of providing transportation for his mum to be here. The former Director is grieving but he’s still trying, and it’s sweet, but you’re not going to let his mum take him home.
The machines whirl while you measure his brain activity; just like always, it’s lit up like it’s the holidays. Your brilliant, but nothing’s helped, so it’s childish but there’s only one last thing to do.
“You can be Snow White, isn’t that right, Fitz? I’d certainly make a lovely Prince Charming, and well, if you just wake up, I’ll even be Watson”
The Rebellion of the Universe Regarding The Engineer
(abridged version)
He understood, the Cosmos cry, he offered!
You can’t have him, the Stars yell, and he wasn’t yours to claim!
He’s ours, the Galaxy chips in, and ours alone.
You got it all wrong, the Microcosm states while they liberate the engineer’s atoms, and you cannot destroy the end.
“It’s been twelve weeks, Simmons, we have to think about-“
“No, no! Absolutely not”, she recants, “I’m not giving up- I won’t and can’t.”
‘It must be Thursday’, he thinks, when his soul finally becomes unattached to Death, ‘Thursday’s a good day’
It’s taken ten days for all of his soul to return, and he wouldn’t be hasty, except, well, it’s just that for the first time since bringing the astronaut home there are voices outside of just hopeless memories inside of his mind.
Black holes and nebulas and suns tear every capillary and burn your damaged lungs, but then there’s light accosting your pupils and it hurts. When the Cosmos returned and fought and relinquished, there’s only one thing to do and your brittle lips spill out-
“Perthshire still in Scotland?”
“It is.”
(she kisses you with oceans spilling and landing on your clavicles, and you remind her of every prayer your lips incanted, of every be careful and of every more and maybe. Her lips recite every word of prose, but the last phrase for the engineer and the biochemist? I love you.)